


makes one little room an everywhere

by TomBowline



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Chronic Pain, Edward Little: Champion Pussy Eater, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Magical Healing Oral, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Thomas Jopson, just societally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27644012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: Which brought them up to now, two men on a bed in a little whitewashed room behind drawn curtains, for Thomas desired a pleasing distraction and Edward desired to please.Fill for day 6 of Trans Terror Week, "Invisible Lives".
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46
Collections: Trans Terror Week





	makes one little room an everywhere

The window was open, just a crack to let in the air, but the curtains were shut. They blew threateningly about from time to time when the gentle salt breeze off the water turned to an impertinent gust, baring through the high-set glass a sliver of blue-grey sky so pale it was almost blinding, but they always settled in the end and drew their gauzy linen blindfold back over the scene within. 

Bathed in the blue-tinged light that filtered through the drapes, Thomas felt almost luxuriant. They were to have gone out, today, for a picnic - it was his day off, the one day in a month wherein he would not touch needle nor thread despite the orders that hounded him even when the shop sat closed on Sundays, and he had wished to spend it in walking along the beach with Edward and watching the waves that were as familiar to them as old friends while they ate their simple lunch. He had been looking forward to it - a day of conversation, of sea air and indulgent market foods, of loving with focus. But they would have had to put on airs, of course; Edward would perhaps have contrived to offer his arm to Thomas in the guise of assisting him, but they would have sat at such a distance as friends do, as gentlemen do, not as lovers. They would have been Mr Jopson the tailor and Commander Little from the shipyard, not Tom and Ned. 

The plan had fallen out in the end due to a sudden and pernicious flare of the pain that sat always about Thomas’ left shin like an imposing and uncouth relation. When he woke he found he could not stand; Edward had fetched in breakfast, a hot water-bottle, anything Thomas might desire. Which brought them up to now, two men on a bed in a little whitewashed room behind drawn curtains, for Thomas desired a pleasing distraction and Edward desired to please. 

Thomas was not used to idleness, and when it befell him he tended to feel a frenzied sort of inadequacy - that he hadn’t done enough, hadn’t done anything worthwhile that day. But as he gripped Edward’s shining hair in his hand and brushed through it (softly, as of yet, light touches that would roughen by degrees), he felt blessedly fond of this private repose. Had they gone out, he would be worrying now about the figure he displayed, about the look upon his face, about this too-high pitch of his voice and that thoughtless touch to Edward’s elbow and every other tiny trifling thing that could bring ruin. He turned to glance at the drapes he had hand-picked and hand-sewn when they had settled here, watched with an idle eye as they shivered briefly in the breeze before slackening. There was comfort in this sort of elective invisibility.

Edward had turned to hide his face in Thomas’ bare stomach; he was pressing little kisses there, scratchy and reverent. There came over him a fetching haze of abashment during their passions that Thomas recognized from the clamoring tamped-down places of his own heart - the enormity of desire, the subversive nature of love, was more than frightening enough to inspire avoidance. He would circle ‘round his destination for maddening minutes, sucking and licking and nipping, savoring the unremarkable corners of Thomas’ body, until Thomas was gasping and tugging his hair in dizzy demanding want. Every touch swelled an ocean of desire within him, boiling in his breast and sliding lazily from the slit of him. 

When at last Edward relented, when he dipped his head and licked into the core of Thomas, it was like a wave crashing down. He had not known how to do this, when they had first begun; enthusiasm he had in spades, but no great skill. How well he had learned, Thomas thought. How proud he was of Edward’s aptitude, of the concentration with which he applied himself. Tonguing under his hood to taste the bare tender flesh of his little cock, sucking at it and licking over it and pressing one thumb into the side of it firm and insistent, making Thomas buck into the touch. With his fingers he explored the sucking flow of Thomas’ hole, broad digits pressing in with familiar ease. Amid the soft tide of his tongue Thomas felt the roughened pads of his fingers, a pleasing contrast, as they coaxed themselves just far enough into him to find the seat of his pleasure and begin pressing over it steady and relentless as the sea. 

This was an especial gift of Thomas’ body, this little spot. He imagined it was much like the one Edward was so responsive to when he was riding on Thomas’ fingers or one of his finely-carved wooden phalli, but unlike Edward, Thomas could be doubly filled - could take a cock in his arse and fingers driving into that spot at the same time. It was a vast hunger indeed that drove those encounters; today, Thomas felt no such urgent gnawing want, only a soft slippery inclination to the simple give and take of pleasure. Perhaps tonight, if he had begun to feel better.

This train of thought dissolved presently into the cloud of sensation upon which he was being borne up. It was foolish to think of the future when in the present he had Edward buried in him face and fingers, moving his head in gentle rolls between Thomas’ hand in his hair and Thomas’ leaking sex. He endeavored also not to think of the past - not to wonder at Edward’s passion for him though his hair was greying in strange patches and he walked with a cane at the age of thirty-two. He had not been very long comfortable in his body, young and healthy though he was, and now he had as good as aged a decade in a year - a circumstance he was too often reminded of by the pulse and sting of his leg. But such stings and the worming thoughts they provoked had a more difficult time of finding purchase in his mind when Edward was below him, hand set warm and wide on his belly, showing him just how much he did love him - how the past did not diminish him, but made the both of them stronger for being so braided together by it.

Braided together spiritually, in heart and mind, and at the moment - ah, there,  _ there, love _ \- physically, in Thomas’ hand digging relentlessly into Edward’s hair, in Edward’s mouth sealed over Thomas’ prick like a man dying of thirst, in Edward’s fingers and the space Thomas’ body was making for them. Thomas did not have the wherewithal to roll his hips as hungrily as he would wish, so he pressed Edward’s head down into him, aided by the stretching roll of Edward’s muscles as he drove himself to meet and part with Thomas over and over again, delivering an unchaste kiss to him with each arrival. He could not see Edward’s face, but he knew from experience how he looked: singularly focused, utterly at peace, brow slack and mouth working and cheeks dripping slick.

Under the measured feast of Edward’s tongue and the questing of his fingers Thomas felt his orgasm rolling through him like a riptide, undetected ‘til it would be too late to stop it. It was a pulsing, fizzing thing that ate up his entire range of sensation and tested his ability to keep his leg still rather than kicking, flexing, shuddering it; Edward brought him through it wonderfully, tongue pressed flat against the whole of him with its tip budged up to the mouth of his hole like an anchor. He stroked his thumb down the soaked furry softness of Thomas’ outer lip, a gentling little motion that made Thomas’ heart twist. How wonderful it was to have this - to have someone who would touch him all over, who would learn the ways he liked to be touched, who would suck and frig and fuck him not just as a man (though that was revelatory alone) but as the man he was. Under Edward’s tongue he felt startlingly, riotously seen.

For a long moment he let Edward lap over him, coaxing the spend from his sated sex, but in time he took a stroking hand to his love’s forehead to nudge him away. He was tired enough today; he did not care to be so completely wrung out as he wanted some days, did not want a second, third, fourth crisis. Instead he pulled Edward gently up by his hair, brought his sticky mouth up to meet him in a kiss. Edward shifted down against him, still tragically clothed, a lovely weight on the right side of his body - effortlessly avoiding his painful places. His lips were steeped in Thomas, his mouth coated with the briny evidence of passion, and he yielded tirelessly to the pull of Thomas’ lips and tongue. 

Presently his hand found the firming line of Edward’s cock where he was pressed to Thomas’ hip. Edward shook his head, evidently worrying for Thomas’ constitution, but Thomas pulled back and stared at him evenly. “I want to,” he assured him, smiling small and half-abashed. “Will you let me?” 

Edward nodded and bent to kiss him again as Thomas drew his prick from his trousers and began rubbing him to a full stand. If this was work, it was the most rewarding kind: to feel the hot pulsing twitch of Edward’s arousal in his hand, to distribute evenly the slick that wept from the head, to draw from him those little huffing groans and whines. A coaxing, an opening-up, _Make yourself heard. Let me hear you._ There was something nearly alchemical about making his quiet retiring Ned writhe and keen this way. 

It was not a long task - Edward seemed much excited already simply by the feast he had made of Thomas’ sex. Besides which, Thomas was using each intimate detail he had learned by heart concerning Edward’s pleasure - each marker on the map that was his body - to bring him to his crisis with thorough dedication. He applied the loose heat of his fist to Edward’s length, the pads of his fingers beneath Edward’s twitching stones, the light stretching pressure of a thumb edging under Edward’s hood, until he was rewarded with a constant and musical groaning from his lover and a twitching of his hips. He knew this unraveling as well as any stitch or seam-turn, and he anticipated its culmination more hungrily than any act of creation he could make with needle and thread.

Edward came at last with his face buried in Thomas’ neck, flooding Thomas’ hand and the hollow of his hip with that sweet indulgent release. He took Thomas’ wrist up, bowed his head to Thomas’ stomach - licked him clean for the second time. The sight of him, lips shining with cream, tongue laving the pool of what he’d left, almost convinced Thomas to try for another round, but he wanted more powerfully the pleasure of rest than the pleasure of passion.

He stretched to draw up the blankets where they had been kicked so uncarefully down the bed; smiled at Edward again, and slid down to rest upon the pillows. Extended an arm - _Come to bed?_

It could not have been more than two o’clock, and Thomas had done nothing all day but lie about and be in pain, followed by lying about and being decadent. He thought, as he was folded into Edward’s sleepy arms, that a little decadence might not be so bad every now and then.


End file.
